


Citizens of Earth (This is the Age of Descent)

by rebelcongeriem



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, 나 혼자만 레벨업 | Solo Leveling (Webcomic)
Genre: And because of the Ten Year Bazooka. Oops?, BAMF Sawada Tsunayoshi, BAMF Vongola Tenth Generation, But crack treated seriously? Yeah, Crossover, Gen, I just realized this is crack, Let's go with that, There might be hints of romance. But honestly? Gen relationships are the bees' knees, Tsuna & company get dropped into another universe due to interfering busybodies, no beta. we die like men, purely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelcongeriem/pseuds/rebelcongeriem
Summary: Somehow, someway, Tsuna and company wind up in a universe where gates, monsters—no, notUMA's, Gokudera—and guilds are an actual, legitimate thing. So naturally, chaos ensues.
Relationships: Sawada Tsunayoshi & Vongola Tenth Generation Guardians, Sung Jin-Woo & Sawada Tsunayoshi
Comments: 35
Kudos: 306





	1. Unnatural

**Author's Note:**

> [ **DISCLAIMER!** ] I don't own KHR or Solo-Leveling. However, the plot, writing, and any characters you don't immediately recognize belong to me.

  


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**Now we're twisted out of form by unnatural selection**. — _Haken_

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**PROLOGUE**.

A strong, pungent stench of decay hung heavy in the air, green, mutilated corpses lying scattered across the dungeon floor from where they had fallen to swords, daggers, and concentrated mana attacks. The dungeon was cold and dank and rife with the smell of blood, a strange kind of stillness descending upon the area—quiet too, no sign of life to be found anywhere, heightening the sense of unease that pervaded the atmosphere surrounding the members of the White Tiger Guild. 

Sent on the orders of their guild master, Baek Yoon-Ho, to investigate the brief S.O.S the missing hunters had managed to get out before everything went dark, they hadn’t known what they were walking into when they’d reconvened at the construction site, formulating a plan of action while anticipating all contingencies, even the less probable ones.

Still didn’t—and didn’t that just _suck_?

“Ne, Jaesang-Hyungnim,” a gruff voice suddenly broke the silence as the group paused in front of an inordinately tall, double doorway built like an arch, comparable to the temples of old where believers had often gathered to sacrifice to their deities of choice. “Why’s the dungeon still intact? Shouldn’t the gate have closed by now?”

A frown creased Eun Jaesang’s brow, unease making his stomach churn. The tanker had a point. Usually, once the bosses were destroyed, the dungeons followed soon after, insurance against the threat of having monsters flood the streets in droves, slaughtering humans right and left in search of territory to claim. (The Jeju Island Gate was a prime example of everything that could go wrong on a raid.) However, the fact that this one still stood despite the destruction of its boss was as surprising as it was unnerving. “Something isn’t right here. Be on your guard, everyone,” he threw over his shoulder as he slowly but steadily advanced into what could only be coined the boss’s room—and yet, where were the bodies? 

Anxious, his sweat-slicked fingers clenched reflexively around the hilt of his sword, his pulse thundering in his ears, drowning out the nervous mumbling at his back.

“Hey, what’s that?” A member in the back called out, pointing in the direction of a stone altar situated in the middle of the room, where a lone body lay, clothes torn and bloodied. A noble sacrifice in the name of hunting, perhaps?

(And even more surprising, surrounding the altar stood three strangers of obvious foreign descent, their backs to the doorway as they loomed over the poor soul, quiet in their perusal.)

_What’s going on here_?

Were they survivors of the double dungeon?

Did they send the S.O.S?

“What the...Who the hell are you?” The silver-haired teen growled as soon as he noticed their party, an angry scowl etched across his features as his fingers briefly disappeared into his pockets, only to reemerge with—holy shit, was that _dynamite_? Who uses dynamite in this day and age?

“That’s what I want to know,” Jaesang retorted, taking command of the situation. “Which guild do you belong to?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Guild?” A flash of irritation crossing his face, Silver Hair turned to face them fully, bracing his feet apart in preparation for a fight, dynamite sticks sliding between his fingers like knives. An assassin type, maybe? “Unlike you idiots, we don’t have time to play games.”

“Haha, what happened to the Mafia game? Did we win?” His dark-haired companion with the shrewd eyes and toothy smile chirped, the bamboo sword strapped to his back emanating a strong, deadly aura. It was almost...sentient, tendrils of dark energy snaking around the wooden blade, singing a ravenous and bloodthirsty tune.

“Shut up, baseball freak!” Snarled Silver Hair, teeth bared like a rabid dog on the verge of attacking. “How many times do I have to tell you this isn’t a game!”

“Gokudera,” the shortest of the three interrupted before the conversation could dissolve into a full-on argument. Or bitch-fest, judging from how quickly the recently named Gokudera had blown up at his companion.

Gokudera snapped to attention with an elated, “Of course, Juudaime!” while the other teen chuckled goodnaturedly, quarrel forgotten. 

A self-deprecating half-smile briefly touched Juudaime’s lips, before his guarded gaze met Jaesang’s, a soft, earthy brown imbued with a level of maturity rarely found in teenagers, awakened or not. “Ano, sumimason. I don’t mean to sound rude, but could we possibly table the interrogation for another time? This man needs medical attention.” He gestured to the unconscious man, flecks of amber swirling in his gaze, burning brighter, a strangely hypnotic sight. “His injuries don’t appear to be life-threatening at the moment, but we can’t be sure.”

“Uh, right. Yes. Myung-Dae, if you would please escort the injured party to Herususutōn Medical Center.” He slanted a pointed look at the A-rank tanker, who merely inclined his head and moved forward to do his bidding. “As for you three…” Giving the visual cue for _trap_ , devised for the sole purpose of hunting, four guild members—three fighters and one mage—broke away from the group, surrounding the strangers and effectively hemming them in, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by this Juudaime...or the other two, if the way their bodies tensed, identical expressions of wariness lurking in their eyes, was any indication. “As visitors, you’ll be expected to report to the Association. I’m sure you understand.”

“Juudaime,” Gokudera warned, fingers hovering over the unlit fuse, twitchy and tense. “What do we do?”

Baseball Freak’s smile sharpened, shifting from oblivious, carefree teenager to seasoned assassin in the span of a heartbeat. “Maa, maa...Shigure Kintoki is hungry.” The mysterious energy surrounding his sword flared as if in response to the idea of quenching its hunger, growing noticeably darker, a sense of greedy anticipation dancing around it. “Should I let him loose to feed, Tsuna?” 

Jaesang looked between the two of them, heavy, black brows furrowed with bemusement. It was as if the boy was talking about a pet rather than a sword...a shinai at that.

“Guys, stand down.” 

The reaction was almost immediate. Gokudera and Baseball Freak shared a look, before Gokudera tsked, the dynamite disappearing with a casual flick of his fingers. Then he straightened with a hard glare at Jaesang, green eyes piercingly direct in their scrutiny. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the restlessness Gokudera's gaze prompted, nor could he understand how three nondescript boys managed to send a ripple of anxiety through a cluster of highly skilled, highly trained, and highly ranked members of the White Tiger Guild—notably one of the top five guilds in South Korea—with nothing more than a look and a few words.

“Haha, maybe next time, Shigure Kintoki.” Baseball Freak gave the worn hilt of his sword a commiserating pat, looking unreasonably amused in Jaesang’s opinion. And when that mysterious, dark energy gave one last pulse before quieting, a full-body shudder swept through the A-rank fighter, a weight strong enough to leave a mental impression lifting from his shoulders. 

(Gods, there was something not quite right about these kids, something inexplicably dangerous and unsettling.)

Nerves effectively rattled, Jaesang cleared his throat. “So, uh, the Association,” he reminded them.

Juudaime—Tsuna, whoever the hell this kid was—flashed a warm, albeit polite, smile in return. “We understand, leader-san.” He then offered his hands to the mage in a show of good faith, an expectant air about him, his comrades following suit without fuss. “You’ll have to lead us there, I’m afraid. Otherwise, we’ll get lost.”

_Lost_. Right.

“I’m so not paid enough for this shit,” Jaesang muttered under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this happened. I don't know if I should apologize or not. But seriously, I love Katekyo Hitman Reborn! and Solo-Leveling. So why not combine the two and just see where it takes us? Just think of it as yet another day in the life of Sawada Tsunayoshi. [ **LOL!** ] I mean, is this idea really _that_ farfetched? Just look at what happened when Timoteo decided to recruit Reborn to teach poor Tsuna mafia-related things. ( x___x ) As always, I'll try to stay as faithful as I possibly can to the source material—unless the plot calls for otherwise.
> 
> Also, updates may be sporadic, because I'm a procrastinator at heart. But they _will_ happen! You have my word on that. I don't like to leave things unfinished.


	2. Heavy

  


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**Heavy is the head that hangs with regret**. — _Like Moths to Flames_

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**CHAPTER ONE**.

It started like any other day.

Sunlight had only just begun to stream through his bedroom window when the sudden _crack_ of a gun startled him awake. With a yelp, Tsuna rolled off the bed and landed in a heap at Reborn’s tiny feet, all tangled up in his space-themed bed sheets. “Reborn!” He tried to scramble away from the cursed baby’s imposing aura but found that he couldn’t move, trapped as he was. “Can’t you wake me up like a normal person?” He whined, burrowing into his sheets until all that could be seen of him was a few tousled strands of sandy-brown hair.

“Don’t whine, Dame-Tsuna.” Reborn nudged the side of the boy’s sheet-covered head with his gun, ignoring the way Tsuna flinched away from the sight of a transformed Leon, his chameleon letting out a soothing hiss. Which, by the way, diminished the intimidating factor he was going for. “Mafia bosses shouldn’t display weaknesses that can easily be taken advantage of.”

“Like you do?” He mumbled, before slowly inching away from the darkening air surrounding the cursed baby, squirming away like a caterpillar caught on the end of a fishing hook. He didn’t get far.

“Show your tutor some respect.” The arcobaleno gave his earlobe a sharp twist, punishment for talking back to him.

“Ow, ow, ow,” he whimpered, scrambling away from those tiny, punishing fingers. “Sorry! I’ll, uh, meet you at school.” With that said, he hastily threw off the sheets and ducked into his closet to grab a change of clothes, then immediately beat a hasty retreat from his room, praying Reborn wouldn’t follow him. But his prayers went unanswered, for as soon as managed to clothe himself without dying in a fatal stair accident and somehow made it out the front door in one piece (after saying a quick goodbye to Nana, who was watching him with an absentminded smile), Reborn suddenly plunked himself down atop his head, giving a few of his strands a brief, harsh tug for daring to run away. 

“Did you forget about your test today, Dame-Tsuna?”

“T, Test?” He squeaked—because yes, he did, in fact, forget he had an important test today. A test that was said to be thirty-five percent of his grade. “B, But it should be fine, right? I studied.”

Reborn scoffed. “No, you fell asleep fifteen minutes after I gifted you an amazingly detailed study guide you didn’t even bother to review. How do you expect to head a Family as large and as powerful as the Vongola if you can’t even find the will power to _remain alert at the most critical of times_?”

“I don’t?” When Reborn, as unimpressed as he was, delivered a well-practiced, swift kick to the back of his head (which was frankly impressive, seeing as he was still sitting on his head at the time _and how was that even possible_?), Tsuna immediately held his hands up in a placating manner. “Fine! It’ll be fine. I won’t let you down this time, Reborn. Promise! You’ll see.”

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Well...he tried.

“Reborn is going to _kill_ me,” he sighed, already mourning the loss of his video game privileges and other fun, mindless activities. 

(And, you know, his life.) 

Before his world could fall into utter disarray, however, the sudden, familiar cry of “Juudaime!” drew his attention to the silver-haired boy running full-tilt toward him, shoving his way through the crowded hallway without a care in the world. It said a lot about the school that no one even batted an eye at the boy’s rude behavior, quite a few girls giggling over being ‘manhandled’ by the attractive transfer student. 

“Juudaime, how was your test?” Gokudera Hayato asked eagerly, latching onto his arm and deftly maneuvering him through a crowd of students who still looked at Tsuna as though he was gum on the bottom of their shoes and they were seriously considering stepping on him repeatedly for whatever imagined slight they couldn't help but accuse him of. “I skimmed through Reborn-sensei’s study guide last night—it was really thorough and detailed, down to the last letter—so I’m sure you did great.”

Before he could reply (or change the subject as he was dying to), Yamamoto Takeshi suddenly materialized at their side, wearing his trademark smile. Tsuna called it his _professional_ smile, sharp and amused and dangerous in a way that sent cold chills down one’s spine. “Haha, I flunked it,” he said cheerily, pumping his fist in the air as if in celebration of that fact. And when certain students decided to loiter in the hall to either ogle Hayato and Takeshi as was common or glare at Tsuna as was even more common, Takeshi merely gave them a look, his dark eyes flashing, and they scattered like roaches. (He was even more proficient than Hayato at keeping the crowd at bay—and wasn’t that surprising?) “I left half the page blank. Dad’s not going to be too pleased.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” snapped Hayato, green eyes narrowing in warning. A warning Takeshi rarely, if at all, heeded. If anything, he seemed to enjoy their bantering.

“Guys, can we not?” Tsuna muttered, his shoulders sagging under the weight of Reborn’s impending disappointment. No doubt he’d be forced to undergo another hellish week of training for failing to reach his full academic potential _yet again_. Maybe if he asked Hibari nicely, the prefect would let him camp out on the school rooftop for a night, at least until he could be sure Reborn wouldn’t shoot him on sight.

“Too late,” the deadly, falsetto voice of his tutor chimed in, before a random door to a random shoe locker slammed open without warning, revealing Reborn in an avocado costume—because Japanese students regularly kept avocados in their shoe lockers... _not_ —a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a crumpled test paper marked _37_ in the other. Tsuna blanched as soon as he saw that awful, terrible, no-good thing. “Care to explain why your name is on this particular test? Because I could have sworn my idiot student said it would be fine...Promised, in fact. And mafia bosses shouldn’t make promises they can’t keep. It’s bad form.”

“Um, coincidence?” He tried (really, _really_ tried) to sound convincing, but from the stone-cold deadpan expression in Reborn’s scarily black eyes—they reminded him of that popular saying by that German philosopher Fred something or other; _and if you gaze long enough into an abyss_ , _the abyss will gaze back into you_ —he miscalculated. "How did you even get that? He said we wouldn't get our test back until tomorrow."

Reborn didn't even bother to acknowledge the question, merely regarding him with displeasure for having the temerity to question him. “It would seem,” he began in a tone that suggested dangerous resolution, the kind that could kill, “that I have been remiss in my duties as tutor. That shall be remedied tonight. Prepare yourself, Dame-Tsuna. By the time I’m done with you, you will _bleed_ prepositions and phrasal verbs.”

 _Oh_ , _god_.

He wanted to cry about the unfairness of his life—wanted, maybe even a little tempted, to contort himself into a whimpering ball of misery in a dark, obscure corner of some random classroom—but he knew escape would prove futile in the end. Reborn was...dedicated to his duties, if nothing else. A real _I’ll_ - _make_ - _’em_ - _succeed_ - _even_ - _if_ - _it_ - _kills_ - _’em_ kind of guy. It was admittedly a pretty effective strategy...but terrifying too. So terrifying, in fact, that a startled, “Hie!” slipped out before he could stop it, and then he just. Booked it. Without looking back at Hayato or Takeshi, whom he could feel staring after him in wide-eyed awe given how quickly he’d made it to the end of the hallway (twelve seconds; a new record), Tsuna hastily ascended the staircase and raced down yet another crowded hallway, moving in the direction of the roof. Hopefully, Hibari would be busy elsewhere, establishing his dominion over some poor, unsuspecting schmucks on the far, far side of the school, giving him at least a few minutes of self-recrimination and reflection and his standard, designated _woe_ - _is_ - _me_ - _look_ - _at_ - _how_ - _much_ - _my_ - _life_ - _sucks_ hour of wallow without having to worry about being set upon by a territorial cloud with a penchant for violence.

 _Made it_ , he thought, relieved, as he slipped out onto the thankfully empty roof, Hibari nowhere in sight. He slumped against the wall with a contented sigh, simply relieved to find himself alone and—

“Sawada Tsunayoshi,” came the unexpected interruption from above. With a startled _eep_ , Tsuna jumped to his feet, nearly embarrassing himself by losing his indoor slippers in the process, and grimaced as soon as he caught sight of Hibari Kyoya lounging like some sleek predator on the ledge above the door overlooking the roof, perfectly sculpted brows drawn together in an expression that perfectly displayed stoicism at its finest. 

“H, Hibari-san,” he stammered, trying to think of a good enough excuse as to why he was encroaching on the prefect’s territory that wouldn’t land him in Namimori Hospital. “I can explain,” he hastened to say but then fell silent when no actual explanation came to him. Of all the times for his imagination to fail him, it just had to be now...and in front of Hibari, of all people.

Hibari merely rolled his eyes and straightened, his movements slow and deliberate, as he continued to stare down at Tsuna from his perch, strangely intense despite the nonchalant way he currently held himself. “You’re hiding from the not-baby,” he guessed correctly. 

“W, What? Me...hide? N, No...I just needed a breath of fresh air.” Tsuna swallowed nervously at the unimpressed look Hibari gave him and would have tried even harder to convince him of that fact—even knowing it wasn’t true—if not for the sudden (and very much welcome) arrival of Hayato, who shoved the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. “There you are, Juudaime! Why’d you run off like that? What if you’d run afoul of an enemy and I couldn’t reach you in time?...What if my aneki tries to poison you again? Damn you, aneki!”

“Calm down, Gokudera-san. I’m fine,” Tsuna rushed to assure him, forcing a smile. 

“Are you sure?” Hayato ran his hands frantically over the sky’s chest, checking for injury. But at Tsuna’s awkward cough, he ducked his head and hastily took a step back, his face growing hot under the other boy’s scrutiny. “Don’t scare me like that,” he mumbled, his tone carrying a petulant note.

“Er, sorry?” Tsuna didn’t like worrying Hayato, given his proclivity for dramatics. He never knew how the storm was going to react. (It’d be amusing if his overreactions weren’t so _exhausting_.)

Hayato’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open wordlessly. For the space of a few heartbeats, he said nothing...and then he shook his head and took several more steps backward. “You don’t owe me any apologies, Tenth...”

And then Takeshi stepped out onto the roof, a bright grin on his face that failed to completely hide the shrewd, knowing gleam in his eyes. His favored sword, Shigure Kintoki, rested inconspicuously against his back, subdued and quiet and currently in its preferred form—a shinai. “Who’s in the mood for sushi?” The rain interposed in that deceptively cheerful, easygoing way of his, slinging an arm around Hayato's shoulders—who immediately shook it off with a scowl. Unbothered, he nudged the scowling boy in the side, his grin broadening until a dimple appeared. “Come on, guys. Dad has this new recipe he’s dying to try, but he refuses to add it to the menu until he’s got enough volunteers willing to take the plunge. And besides, this little guy needs to eat.” He nodded toward Reborn, who was currently using Takeshi's right shoulder as a perch, blank-faced and silent as he observed their gathering. (Only the mist, sun, and lightning were missing.)

“Read the mood, baseball freak,” Hayato retorted, arms crossed as he levied a glare at him. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something important here?”

“Hey, hunger is important. Too important. Ignoring it can be bad for your health.”

“Then why don’t you do something about it...alone? Hah? Stop being such a needless burden to Juudaime and learn to solve your own damn problems.”

Tsuna rubbed the back of his neck, regarding them both with obvious confusion. Exactly what were they fighting about again? And why? “Uh, guys?”

“So. You’re _not_ in the mood for sushi?” Takeshi pouted.

Hayato’s teeth clapped together so hard Tsuna was surprised they didn’t break. “No, you idiot! I am _not_ in the mood for sushi—” 

“Herbivores,” Hibari growled, rolling off the ledge to land with cat-like grace near the door, a flash of irritation crossing his gaze. Tsuna knew what that look meant. He just wished the others could be bothered to _care_ , but looking at Hayato and Takeshi now, he knew—even accepted it on some level—that they didn’t possess a lick of sense or self-preservation between them. It was _so_ infuriating. “You’re disturbing the peace. Desist. Now.”

“Oh?” A soft, feminine voice called from the empty stairwell, and then Chrome Dokuro appeared in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest and her legs crossed at the ankles. “Kufufufu. And, what? Do you honestly believe you have the ability to back up that _or else_ I hear in your voice, puppy?”

(Okay, so that _wasn’t_ Chrome.

More like Rokudo Mukuro decided to try his hand at the whole student thing without, you know, being physically present.

But he supposed that was to be expected, given how easily Chrome relinquished control to Mukuro on the daily, allowing herself to be used as a vessel from which he spoke and acted through. And it was more than obvious he was at the helm now, so to speak, if one took into account the air of detached amusement surrounding her and the mischievous gleam in her heterochromatic eyes—both of which were on full display, the patch nowhere to be seen. 

No one, absolutely _no one_ , had eyes like Mukuro.)

Hibari bared his teeth in response, sliding into a crouch just as Chrome brought out her trident, a dark, bloodthirsty expression contorting her delicate features. The tension in the air was so thick it made it hard to breathe, at least until Sasagawa Ryohei decided to throw himself into the thick of it. “What an extreme gathering!” came his boisterous, overly excited greeting as he somehow wedged himself between the two opposing forces—and then promptly took a tonfa to the face for his trouble. “Ow! That extremely hurt, Hibari! You should join the boxing club!”

Tsuna stared at the three in numb stupefaction. How was this his life? Seriously... _How_?

“Dame-Tsuna.” Dissatisfaction threaded through Reborn’s voice as he hopped from Takeshi’s shoulder to Tsuna’s, giving the back of Tsuna's head a disappointed _thwack_. “You need to learn how to exert better control over your guardians.”

Tsuna winced visibly and crammed his hands into his pockets to keep them from touching the tender area, which would only serve to invite another thwack...or three. Depending on Reborn’s mood. “Are you trying to turn me into a mini-Timoteo?” He muttered, somewhat offended by the idea. The old man still, even to this day, saw nothing wrong with turning his youngest son into a bonafide popsicle or even sealing the flames of a child who had no other way to combat his attack other than to surrender to the invading flames, leaving him in a truly vulnerable state for years afterward. It had taken Reborn sitting him down and explaining just what had been done to him against his will for Tsuna to fully understand the gravity of his situation. 

Reborn flicked his forehead. Hard. “If you allow them to continue to run wild without check, no other families will ever take you seriously. They will naturally assume that they can get away with betraying the alliance without fear of the consequences, due in part to your age but also because your own guardians show a distinct lack of respect for—”

“Die, Reborn!” A young, enthusiastic voice suddenly shouted from the doorway, before a wild Lambo appeared, equipped with pink grenades and a toothy grin.

“Case in point.” The arcobaleno gestured toward the rambunctious lightning with a nod of his head and a roll of his eyes, easily dodging the flying tackle before diverting the trajectory of the mishandled grenades by kicking them back in the boy’s direction with all the controlled force of a projected missile, dangerous and inescapable, as proven from the way Lambo—who had all but made a game of trying to catch Reborn unaware—flailed and floundered after being nailed in the forehead with them, tears of humiliation and pain coursing down chubby, pinch-worthy cheeks, at least according to Muira Haru. 

(How a family, even one immersed in the underworld, could recklessly send a child after a hitman of such renowned skill was still beyond Tsuna. And given that their blatant disregard for Lambo’s well-being even irked Reborn...Well, clearly something was very much wrong with that picture.) 

Tsuna’s brows came down into a slight frown. “Are you all right, Lambo?”

“Tol—er—ate,” Lambo sniffled as he reached into whatever pocket space existed in the depths of his afro—seriously, what was his hair _made_ of?—and pulled out the infamous Ten-Year-Bazooka; Tsuna didn’t even have time to groan before the boy activated it simply by smashing it against the ground and encasing the roof in a thick, visible blanket of pink smoke.

“Tenth!” Hayato cried out, his tone sounding a little startled and a lot concerned.

Just as Tsuna opened his mouth to answer, however, a strange wave of nausea washed over him, and his head started to pound. His hand abruptly dropping to his stomach, he squinted through the smoke, searching desperately for the familiar, comforting silhouettes of his guardians, for signs of their presence. They were rarely this quiet, rarely this still. And when an even stranger, unsettling wave of stillness flooded in, his intuition blared, urging him to escape...to seek shelter within the intensely protective clutches of the rainbow coiling around him like a snake, frantically clinging to him. But neither the strength of their bonds, nor their close proximity to one another, was enough to keep the foreign presence from invading his psyche. It foraged through his memories—both good and bad, both wholesome and blood-soaked—with a fine-tooth comb, a sense of satisfaction not his own blooming as it found what it came for.

 _You’ll do_.

The next thing Tsuna knew everything went black; his stomach gave a sudden lurch, his throat constricting as he struggled for breath, and then he was spinning, spinning, _spinning_...Everything was spinning out of control, his life, the present, his sense of reality, and his head...God, his head hurt. There was a sharp pain rooted deep in his head, like someone had lit his skull on fire...or rammed hot needles in his eyes—or, hell...like all the blood had rushed to his temples, pounding away like war drums in the midst of battle.

Terrifyingly weightless and held completely suspended in darkness for what could have amounted to decades but was, in fact, only seconds, Tsuna blinked out of his stupor when he found himself standing amidst the bloodied, mutilated remains of unidentifiable creatures that certainly didn’t belong to his world. _What the_ —

“—hell?” The welcoming interruption of his storm brought a waterfall of relief...in the relaxed slope of his shoulders and the slight upward tilt of his lips. 

“Gokudera-san.” Tsuna let out a soft sigh. He didn’t know where he was or how he even got there, but at least he wasn’t alone. With that thought firmly in mind, he lit his palm afire, the soft, orange glow illuminating a deep cavern that seemed concerningly endless. Small, loose stones littered the floor, water oozing from the rough, uneven stone that made up the walls of the dungeon—for what else could it be? It appeared to be just as dark and as vast and as inhospitable as Vindice Prison; all that was missing were thick, iron bars and the wails of the damned. Then again, perhaps these _creatures_ had once been prisoners and revolted, resulting in their...demise, a seemingly excessive and violent thing that sent a shiver of unease through him. “Where do you suppose we are?”

“I don’t know,” Hayato grudgingly admitted, fingers already sliding into his pockets to fiddle with the wicks of the dynamite always stored on his person. It was a nervous tick he'd developed as a boy trying to survive the treachery and dangers of the mafia, forced to grow up long before he’d even learned what it meant to be a child. And for that reason alone, Hayato’s father deserved all the antipathy Tsuna had to give, maybe even a little bit of his disgust too. (Because, honestly...who would take one look at their son, illegitimate or not, and immediately think _disgrace_? Who would allow their daughter to regularly feed poisoned food to an innocent child desperate for the approval and unconditional support of their only parent? 

That man wasn’t even fit to inspect a sewer, let alone head an organization.) 

“We need to be careful, Tsuna-sama.” Hayato pursed his lips and looked around him with guarded eyes, careful not to step into any puddles of—wait, was that _green_ blood? Had they finally, **finally** uncovered proof of the _unidentified mysterious animal_? “I, I don’t know what it is, but something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“All par for the course, I guess,” Tsuna grumbled, suppressing a wince. That annoyingly sensitive and damningly accurate hyper intuition of his hadn’t stopped clanging around in his head since they’d been dropped into unfamiliar territory, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with alarm as he tried (and failed) to figure out what had happened to cause such a twist in the already twisted reality of his life. 

But that wasn’t his most pressing issue at the moment.

Oh, no. Not by a longshot.

First things first, he needed to find the others—

“Tsuna!” A familiar voice echoed through the cavern, one part agitated and three parts cheerful and all parts...Takeshi. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Whipping his head around to peer through the darkness, wishing his flames were a little more far-reaching than he could make them without setting the damn place on fire, Tsuna nearly breathed another sigh of relief when his gaze—a soft brown flecked with bits of amber here and there—found his rain standing before a massive archway, all but vibrating with excitement and something vaguely resembling anxiety. “Hey, Tsuna, look what I found!”

Curiosity piqued, he came to a stop beside Takeshi, Hayato only a few paces behind him, and followed his line of sight to where stone statues of various heights encircled an altar where a dark-haired man lay, two large swords and a singular long spear piercing a body already riddled with swollen, red gashes and cuts deep enough for tissue to show in a strange rendition of a blood sacrifice...Not to mention the missing leg. (Talk about grisly. Poor man.)

As if they could sense their presence, the statues turned as one to look at them—ancient sculptures stained by years of exposure to mold and mildew and spider-webbed with nicks and cracks where clumps of moss clung. (Their apathy brought goosebumps to Tsuna’s arms.)

“Oh…” 

“Shit,” Hayato breathed, knuckles white as he gripped the sleeve of Tsuna’s shirt. “ _U_... _UMA_ 's.” 

.

.

.

_Meanwhile_.

“Kufufufu. Dance, puppies. Show the skylark how it’s done.” A glint of silver flashed, followed by the pained yelp of a direwolf as its body collapsed against the stone wall, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. 

A menacing growl filling the dungeon, the largest direwolf flashed its fangs and crouched down, its coarse, reddish-brown fur bristling as it tensed its muscles, preparing to attack—only for it to be blindsided by a tonfa, the sheer force of the impact sending the creature crashing into the wall, where it landed, unconscious and bleeding, near its fallen brethren. “You owe me a rematch, Rokudo Mukuro,” Hibari demanded, ignoring the other direwolves as they slowly backed away from the two guardians, ears flattened against their heads and tails tucked slightly between their legs.

A mile-wide smirk played across Mukuro's lips as he wiped the bloodied trident on the ground, not even sparing a glance for the strangers who had yet to take their wide, shock-filled eyes off of them. “All in due time, my friend. All in due time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to update this for weeks, honestly. I've had a majority of the chapter written for a while now, but I couldn't decide how I wanted to end it. And, well, I figured throwing a little Mukuro and Hibari side action at you might just be the best thing to do. Ohohohoho. Next time: chaos at the Association. Fun times, just maybe not for Tsuna. xD.


End file.
